Promise on the Mistletoe
by erbby17
Summary: After America's failed wedding proposal to England, Canada and France take the opportunity to play yuletide cupids. Secret Santa fic for LJ's usxuk community.
1. COCOA

_A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! And Happy Holidays! This here fanfic was written for the Secret Santa fic exchange over at LJ's usxuk comm for monakauta!!! I hope they enjoyed it. X3 I'll be posting it in multiple chapters here on (only 3 chapters, and they're not that long), but I wanted to make sure I had something up here._

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters or the series Hetalia. Himaruya does. AND HAVE YOU SEEN WHAT HE HAS BEEN DOING TO THE WEBSITE TODAY?! It's so cute. He drew Finland and Sealand andI SQUEED at the comics. X3 PLEASE ENJOY! And human names are used in dialogue ONLY in this fic: country names in the descriptions. :3_

_ENJOY!_

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**Promise on the Mistletoe**

**COCOA**

"…he rejected me."

The moment would've been perfect if a clash of thunder roared in the background, but America stood in the doorway without the proper ambiance. His body looked limp, like he had stood in the middle of an interstate highway, receiving blows from oncoming traffic from both directions. His heartbreak could easily be read on his face and he trudged through his brother's living room in a somber stupor.

Canada stared, slightly confused yet mostly concerned for his southern brother's condition. "Alfred!" He yelled, catching the collapsing blonde in his hands. He stared at the puffy eyes of his brother and found it hard to hide his sympathy. "Arthur said no, didn't he," he said softly, his realization met with a tremendous groan.

America scrambled out of the Canadian's arms and fell face first onto the couch, whining and weakly pounding his fists into the upholstery. "Uhn, I don't know if I should feel dejected or guilty…"

Giving the sullen nation a good glance over, Canada perked up his brow, curious about the man's predicament. "Um…what?"

In the silence that followed, America rolled over, his eyes staring straight at the ceiling, before he spoke again. "He said he couldn't stand to be heartbroken again, and ran off. Crying! What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

Canada sighed and shook his head, walking over to his brother and sitting beside him. Resting his hand on the other blonde's shoulder, he rubbed it in hopes that it would succeed as some form of comfort. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

The American's sad blue eyes stared straight into his brother's, his face reminiscent of a child coping with a broken toy. "You saw how big that rock was, Mattie!"

Remembering the size of the ring, the Canadian rolled his eyes and kept his voice low. "Yeah, and I know how pissed your boss is going to be once he finds out you dipped into taxpayers' money to buy that ring…"

"I figured he wouldn't care if he knew it would help stimulate foreign relations," America spat back, curling into a ball in the corner of the couch, moping and groaning.

Canada sighed, keeping his vision off the depressing person in the room, trying to remember the last time he saw a smile on his brother's face. Of course, it wasn't hard, but most of the specific times he remembered dealt with England; buying the ring, boarding the plane to London.

He always found thier relationship a bit odd, though. It always seemed as if England was constantly upset about something America did, but time made Canada realize it was just the English nation's grumpy disposition. Seeing past that, the bond between the two seemed perfect. England also had a tendency to be very clingy with America, but always denied it with robust offense. Still, those few times he saw the two of them kiss, Canada could definitely feel the proverbial spark fill the room, which would always leave him feeling incredibly awkward.

America was still curled in his pathetic ball when Canada snapped out of his short trance, and smiled softly, draping a blanket over his brother's sullen form. "How about some hot cocoa, eh?"

"Hnn, extra marshmallows," America mumbled.

Standing from the couch, Canada smiled and started his way towards the kitchen to prepare the frothy beverage. But one glance at the telephone put ideas in the Canadian's head; perhaps he should give France a call…


	2. ROSE TEA

**ROSE TEA**

"…I rejected him."

France sat beside the fire, his eyes focused on the printed words of his newspaper, paying virtually no attention to his new house guest. "I know you like playing **hard to get**, _Mon Angleterre_, but perhaps this is taking it too far."

The speeding shoe towards his head made the Frenchman reconsider his comment to scowling Briton, his paper on the floor and a throbbing bump near his temple. With slight irritation, France cast his vision towards England, but the snarky remark he prepared was buried by the look on the other man's face. "Are you…_crying_?"

"Y-yes I am, you git," the nation spat, wiping his tears with his shirt sleeve.

France found it hard to get mad at his long-time friend-but-mostly-rival, especially when the man was in such a pathetic state. He got up from his seat and strolled over to the bedraggled blonde, lightly draping his arms over his shoulders. "Now Arthur, and tell your good friend Francis what troubles you."

Though hesitant at first, England rested his tear-stained cheek against France's chest, the older man's arms folding over his back in a soft embrace. "Alfred proposed to me, and…I said _no_."

Laughing heartily, France pulled the troubled Briton from his chest and looked down into his watery green eyes. "Now, why would you do a silly thing like that? You _love_ him!"

A soft grunt escaped England, his body shimmying out of France's hold. "…I was afraid," he said, barely audible, backing away and turning from comforting friend.

"Afraid? Of what?!"

Standing in the parlor, the lights of the room flickered away from England, leaving him in his personal spot of desolate darkness. He glanced back, an anxious look lingering over his features. "Of him leaving me again."

France rolled his eyes, finding the lack of lighting arrangements a bit severe for the situation. "Arthur, if he proposed to you, I'm sure that _leaving_ you is the last thing on Alfred's mind…"

A familiar growl reverberated from England and his sullen aura was replaced with one of irritation. "I know, I know," he grumbled, his face growing pink. "But he can be such a wild spirit at times. I never know what he's going to do next!"

Shaking his head, France grabbed England by the arms and lightly tossed him down onto his chair, waltzing out of the parlor. "Arthur, you're being paranoid. I'll fix up a cup of tea to calm your nerves."

"…if I find a rose petal in that tea, you're dead, Bonnefoy!"

France laughed lightly, entering the kitchen to prepare a cup of tea for his troubled friend. Unfortunately, the tea would have to wait; a ringing phone can be such a distraction sometimes.

"Allo?"

"Ah, hey Francis," the meek voice over the telephone replied.

France's face lit with a smile, ecstatic to hear receive this call. "Mathieu! _Mon petit copain_, how are you?"

A soft groan answered the Frenchman, as if dreading the ensuing conversation. "Uh, Francis, I have to talk to you. Alfred's…not at his best right now."

France smiled wickedly, his voice lowering to a whisper. "I see. I suppose he's mourning his love, correct?"

"Yes, actually," Canada replied with a soft chuckle. "Is Arthur at your place?"

France looked back towards the doorway that led to the dimly lit parlor, reflecting on the brooding nation inside. "Either you have an excellent intuition, or this sort of thing happens to us too often. Now, what have you to say about this ridiculous predicament?"

France could hear the smile in the Canadian's voice, that accent of his thickening with mischief, an oddity only France has experienced. "We have to make this proposal work, Francis, and I have the perfect idea in mind. About your Christmas party next week: how about Alfred and I fly in a few days early and I'll help you with the…_preparations_."

Stopping to consider, the Frenchman could only imagine why such emphasis was put on that final word; this idea must've been a good one. "Oh, I don't mind," he said, trying to consider his options. "But what do you propose we do with Arthur?"

"Like I said, Francis, I have this all planned out. Now, just listen to me…"


	3. EGGNOG

**EGGNOG**

England had spent the last tiring week getting his mind off America's failed proposal attempt by touring the French countryside. Although, it would've been more fun if someone else would join him, besides the chauffer.

He sat in the back of the car, staring out at the snow covered fields. "How much longer," he asked his driver idly.

"About 10 minutes, _monsieur_," the driver reported back, his voice thick with accent.

England sighed and nodded, watching the condensation of his breath on the cold window vary in shapes and sizes. This damn party of France's was the last thing he wished to attend; he would just have to stand by the eggnog all night and drown his sorrows in booze.

The car drove up to the front of France's estate, the grounds decorated with green wreaths and red bows and white lights. Stepping out of the car, England groaned and rolled his eyes, fixing his jacket and making his way to the door. "He's really going all out tonight, isn't he?"

Inside, he spotted all the merry faces of nations and politicians, plus a few people he didn't quite know. The band was set up in the corner, playing holiday tunes in a multitude of languages. England's green eyes scanned the room and he felt his stomach lurch in nausea at the sight of mistletoe, hanging from the ceiling, dead center in the middle of the room.

"You sick bastard," he said silently, scurrying towards the snack table where a large bowl of eggnog greeted the British humbug.

One glass of the drink was already in his system by the time his host waltzed over, decked out in gaudy holiday gear. "Oh Arthur, this _would_ be your first stop of the evening, wouldn't it?"

England's lip twitched, the second glass of rummy goodness touching his lips. "Shut up, Francis. You know I'm not in the mood to see anyone, especially…"

"How was the countryside, _mon ami_?"

England sighed, appreciating France's attempt at getting his mind off the man he left heartbroken the previous week. "It was very nice, Francis, thank you," he said, a soft blush on his cheeks as he sipped on his eggnog.

France smiled, taking the glass from England and replacing the empty spot with his own hands. "Come, let's dance," he said, twirling the Briton off onto the dance floor.

"L-let go of me, frog, I don't want to dance," England sputtered, struggling in France's arms, the pungent scent of wine greeting his nostrils.

Of course, France just laughed and held England tighter, parading him in front of the drunken laughter of other nations, and receiving a few cat calls from Prussia and Spain. "Let's get a little closer, _mon Angleterre_," the romantic nation said, his hand drifting lower towards the nether-regions of England's backside.

Luckily for England, he spun out of France's arms before he could react, flopping face first against the finely dressed chest of…

"Alfred!?"

The last time England saw America, the younger nation's expression was that of hurt shock. But looking up at that face now, England only saw a burning ire.

"Having fun?"

Even the tone in the American's voice was filled with bitterness, but England found himself clinging to the nation's suit jacket. "Alfred, what are…?"

America simply glared, his familiar blue eyes deepening with displeasure. "You know, I can understand you not accepting my proposal for the reason you gave to me last week, but if you said no just so you can fuck around with Francis, then go ahead, be my guest," he yelled, pushing the Briton away and storming off towards the door.

"Alfred, no, wait!" England grabbed America's arm, eager to fix the stupid misunderstanding. "Please," he said once more, the strength leaving his body at the sight of other blonde's hurt eyes. Slowly, tears started to bulb from his eyes, unable to bear the sight of that man's pain. "That's not the reason, just please…don't look at me like that."

He could have sworn the band stopped playing, that the crowd of people around them was watching intently; in fact they were, but England's uncertainty lied in his focus on America. Why _did_ he say no? Why was England so obsessed with heartbreak from 200 years past?

"I'm such an idiot," he said, on the verge of epic emotional expulsion. "I shouldn't have rejected you like that."

"Then," America started, placing a light touch of his fingers beneath England's chin, "why did you?"

It was getting harder to hold back the torrent of tears, but England managed, following the lead of America's gentle touch and looking straight into his eyes. "I got paranoid, and…I freaked!"

America's expression softened, a smile creeping its way to his lips. "Paranoid over _what_? England, I love you…"

Dumbstruck, he couldn't place his thoughts into a coherent sentence, but the happy tones of a certain Italian distracted England from the blank spot in his mind.

"Hey, look! They're under the mistletoe!"

He gasped and looked up, his head moving in time with America's. They _were_ under the mistletoe and in each other's arms, with an audience, nonetheless. England could feel his whole body flush with heat and embarrassment, not prepared to perform such an intimate task in front of so many eager eyes.

"…is that…the engagement ring," America said softly, his voice lined with confusion.

England watched America's eyes dart from the odd glimmer of the mistletoe to the two guilty faced men by the eggnog bowl: Canada and France. Both had a mischievous hint to their smiles and the two shared a subtle high five.

His mouth gaping wide, England clutched America tighter to contain his outrage. "You _planned_ this?"

Canada hid his blushing face behind his hands, opting not to answer the cornered blondes, but France stepped forward proudly and nodded. "We couldn't understand why a beautiful couple such as this couldn't survive a wedding proposal, so we took the liberty of making sure it did," he said.

England's growls were overpowered by America's laughter and soon he was the only person in his field vision again, his amused smile distracting England from his own anger.

"Oh God, that's too funny," he said, meeting England's eyes. "We should've never asked those two to help us, huh?"

He couldn't help but smile, awkward though it may be, and nodded, unable to voice the words he couldn't think of saying.

With a tight squeeze, America leaned in, brushing noses with his English lover, and popped the quiet question. "So, what do you say? Arthur Kirkland…will you marry me?"

The trip out in the countryside; the Christmas party; the dance floor act; the mistletoe; all a ploy to get Arthur to say yes, to stop the unnecessary misery of two lonely lovers. England smiled, reflecting on all of the reasons he loved America, all of the reasons why he could never live without him.

Barely audible, England moved in to press his lips against America's and whispered, "of course I will." The soft peck turned into a romantic kiss, approved by the roaring applause of the party guests. They would have to worry about getting the ring out from the ceiling decoration later, but for now, this kiss under the mistletoe would suffice as their own promise.

**Merry Christmas~!**

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_A/N: THANKS FOR READING! Since I was posting all these chapters in one night, I didn't bother to disclaim this or the previous chapter: I just wanted to organize them this way because it makes me happy. XD I hope you all enjoyed this fic, and have a wonderful holiday season. ♥_

**_~erbby_**


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